I was in the pastor’s office of my church the first time I ever considered committing suicide. It was a gentle summer’s night in the rural southeastern collective of my youth. The air was sweet with honeysuckle and filled with the incessantly soothing chirp-chirp-chirp of crickets. Lightening bugs drifted lazily above the dewy landscape as the trees danced in the breeze. It would have been a pict…